Peri and the Pause

There’s a moment in every woman’s life when her body begins to whisper that things are changing. For some, it’s subtle — a few missed cycles, a few restless nights. For others, it feels like an earthquake shaking everything she once understood about herself. This is perimenopause — that in-between space, that sacred, confusing, beautiful, and painful transition between who we’ve been and who we are becoming.

On my end, over the last year or so, it’s been the earthquake. It’s hard to put it into the words, but what continues to pop into my brain is:

I am turning into a version of me I’ve never known before.

The Sleepless Nights

Insomnia is often one of perimenopause’s cruelest gifts. Night after night, I find yourself staring at the ceiling, my mind racing, my heart pounding. The quiet of the night becomes a mirror — reflecting my thoughts, my fears, my questions about purpose and wondering what God has in store for me.

Most nights when this happens, I long for that deep, easy sleep that I once took for granted. Now when the insomnia hits, I lie awake in the in-between — tired but wired, exhausted but awake, vulnerable but strangely aware.

It honestly feels like betrayal. My body, the same one that’s carried me through motherhood, a career, horrific tragedy, and the journey of love’s resiliency, suddenly feels foreign. I feel angry, frustrated, and even ashamed that something so natural can feel so disorienting.

I have to believe that there’s something happening beneath the surface.

The Invitation Within

Perimenopause, and especially insomnia, can be an invitation to slow down and listen more deeply. When everything feels unpredictable, it’s as though life itself is asking you to surrender — to stop controlling and start trusting.

The sleepless hours become a kind of spiritual practice. A time to meet yourself, without distractions or masks. You start asking new questions:

·       What am I holding onto that no longer serves me?

·       What have I been avoiding that now wants to be seen?

·       What part of me is ready to awaken, even in the dark?

When you stop resisting the discomfort and start witnessing it, you begin to realize — this season isn’t about loss. It’s about transformation.

It feels excruciatingly tough to practice when you’re burning from the inside out as your body acts like it’s ready for a 5K and you’re just thinking about how everyone else is sleeping and you start deducting hours from your projected sleep.

If I fall asleep soon, I’ll have 5 hours of sleep. 4 hours, 3 hours…2 hours…

Some nights, I cry my eyes out and can’t bring myself to God for more than a few seconds at a time. But, I am getting better at accepting that these tough evenings are an opportunity to surrender and connect. When I can accept where I’m at, somehow I can feel peace amidst the pain.

The Spiritual Growth Hidden in the Chaos

Perimenopause has a way of stripping away illusions. I can’t perform my way through it. I can’t control my hormones into submission. I can’t numb or bypass the changes. I am being asked to surrender — to soften into a new kind of wisdom that I cannot hide from, deny, or swallow down.

And that wisdom is spiritual.

I am beginning to see and truly BELIEVE that my worth was never tied to my productivity, my appearance, or my ability to “handle everything.”

The insomnia, while exhausting, can become a teacher. In the quiet, I begin to feel the presence of something greater (when I am not kicking and screaming my way through an insomnia tantrum) — call it God, Spirit, the Universe, my Higher Self — whispering truths I’ve been too busy to hear:

You are enough.
You are not broken.
You are being remade.

Finding Peace in the Process

I am learning that the healing journey in perimenopause isn’t about “fixing” the symptoms — it’s about listening to what they’re trying to tell me. Maybe it’s learning to rest without guilt. Or maybe it’s setting boundaries, letting go of old identities, or reconnecting to their feminine wisdom.

Perhaps there is peace found in ritual —journaling at 3 a.m., breathwork, prayer, self-reiki or gentle movement. There is also strength in community — talking with other women who are walking the same road, realizing I am not alone. I have been doing that a lot lately.

This is all a reminder that it is not the end of my story — it’s a sacred beginning.

A New Dawn

Eventually, sleep returns, even if it’s imperfect and inconsistent. The hormones settle, the storms quiet. And I emerge different — softer, wiser, more awake.

One day, I will have walked through the dark night of my body in this earthquake, and come out the other side more connected to my soul. Perhaps I will feel that every restless night was, in its own way, an initiation — a calling home to myself.

Perimenopause isn’t just a biological transition. It’s a spiritual awakening.

And maybe — just maybe — the nights that once broke me open were the very thing that helped me remember, at my essence, who I am.

And today, I am leaning into that beautiful hope.

With Love & Light,

JJ